B00BPJL400 EBOK (2 page)

Lt. Tex “Sparks” Sheider
—Exec.

Gilbert Yeager
—Engineer (one of the original Mice).

3rd Naval Air Wing

(9th, 11th, 12th Bomb Squadrons, and 7th, 10th Pursuit Squadrons (30 planes assembled, 30 unassembled).

2nd Lt. Orrin Reddy
—COFO.

Sgt. Kuaar-Ran-Taak “Seepy” (L)
—Reddy’s backseater.

2nd Fleet DDs (of note)

USS
Mertz
***

USS
Tindal
***

USS
Finir-Pel
***

Lt. Haan-Sor-Plaar (L)
—Commanding.

HIMS
Achilles

Lt. Grimsley
—Commanding.

HIMS
Icarus

Lt. Parr
—Commanding.

USS
Pecos
—Fleet oiler.

USS
Pucot
—Fleet oiler.

2nd Fleet Expeditionary Force: (X Corps)
4 regiments Lemurian Army and Marines, 2 regiments Frontier troops, 5 regiments Imperial Marines (3 Divisions) w/artillery train.

General Tamatsu Shinya
—Commanding.

Colonel James Blair

Major Dao Iverson
—Commanding Second Battalion, 6th Imperial Marines.

Nurse Cmdr. Selass-Fris-Ar (L)
—“Doc’Selass”; daughter of Keje-Fris-Ar.

Captain Blas-Ma-Ar “Blossom” (L)
—Commanding 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marines.

Spon-Ar-Aak “Spook” (L)
—Gunner’s Mate, and 1st Sergeant of A Company, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marines.

Lt. Staas-Fin “Finny” (L)
—C Company, 2nd Battalion, 8th Maa-ni-la.

Lt. Faal-Pel “Stumpy” (L)
—A Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Maa-ni-la; former ordnance striker.

Allied Fugitives in the Dominion

Lt. (jg) Fred Reynolds
—Special Air Division, USS
Walker.

Ensign Kari-Faask (L)
—Reynolds’s friend and backseater.

Characters in and from the Republic of Real People

Emperor (Kaiser) Nig-Taak

Kapitan Adler Von Melhausen
—Commanding SMS
Amerika.

General Marcus Kim
—Military High Command.

Inquisitor Kon-Choon
—Director of Spies.

Kapitan Leutnant Becker Lange
—Von Melhausen’s exec.

Leutnant Doocy Meek
—British sailor and former POW (WWI).

Lt. Toryu Miyata
—Defected ambassador from Kurokawa and the Grik.

Enemies

General of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa
—Formerly of Japanese Imperial Navy battle cruiser
Amagi
; self-proclaimed regent and “sire” of all India.

General Orochi Niwa
—Advising Grik.

“General of the Sky” Hideki Muriname

“Lieutenant of the Sky” Iguri
—Muriname’s exec.

Signals Lt. Fukui

Cmdr. Riku
—Ordnance.

Captain Kurita
—Commanding
Hidoiame.

Grik (Ghaarrichk’k)

Celestial Mother
—Absolute, godlike ruler of all the Grik, regardless of the relationships between the various Regencies.

Tsalka
—Imperial Regent-Consort and Sire of all India.

N’galsh
—Viceroy of India and Ceylon.

The Chooser
—Highest member of his order at the Court of the Celestial Mother; prior to current policy, “choosers” selected those destined for life—or the cook pots—as well as those eligible for elevation to Hij status.

General Esshk
—First General of all the Grik.

General Halik
—Elevated Uul sport fighter.

General Ugla, General Shlook
—Promising Grik leaders under Halik’s command.

Holy Dominion

His Supreme Holiness, the Messiah of Mexico, and, by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World
—“Dom Pope” and absolute ruler.

Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha
—Blood Cardinal and former Dominion ambassador to the Empire of the New Britain Isles.

Species mimicking the physiology and behavior of flatworms are abundant on this world, as are leeches, mosquitoes, etc., so the familiar can certainly be found. Other creatures defy comparisons through relentless evasion or self-indulgent aggression. I’m struck, however, by how some apparently related species can exhibit such profound elemental similarities yet share so few behavioral or even physical characteristics. The Grik, or Grik-like beings, are prominent examples.

The Sa’aaran Lawrence, was our first confirmation that the Grik-like form is the dominant advanced physiology on this world, yet we subsequently learned the form lent itself to the most amazing variety and adaptation—or environmental evolution, if you will. We now know there are land Grik, flying Grik, amphibious Grik, and every other kind of Grik in between. Just as astonishing was our discovery that the Grik form is by no means culturally—or intellectually—monolithic. This created considerable confusion at the time, but also gifted me with a vast new sphere of speculation.

Given the multiplicity of adjustments the Grik form has achieved, is it possible that some levels of intelligence are more favorable to physical evolution than others? I’m convinced that humans and Lemurians attained technological sentience, for lack of a better term, far earlier than any Grik-like species yet encountered. Both adapted to environmental survival imperatives by employing intellectually devised tools. But the Grik-like forms apparently lingered at what I consider a “wolf-pack” level of sentience far longer, due to a superior, if more specialized, physiology. Sentient in the sense that they had some concept of self, social graduation, and perhaps “us versus them,” they exploded in all directions and swiftly, physically changed to fill a variety of ecological niches.

Ridiculous? Perhaps, but such precipitous transformations are not unique. It is theorized that viruses spontaneously mutate in such a way. I remember the dreadful influenza outbreak at the end of the Great War all too well. It had to come from somewhere, and unless it simply popped into existence, it must have quickly changed from a relatively benign form into perhaps the most universally virulent disease of modern times. Pray God nothing like it ever appears here.

I shouldn’t compare Grik-like forms to viruses, though some seem just as deadly. I certainly mean no offense to my dear friend Lawrence. I only mean to illustrate the possibility of dramatic, stunningly rapid change, in the grand scheme of things. I know little of microbiology and nothing of what mechanisms influence viral mutations, but I doubt they can transform more advanced forms so readily. I am compelled to speculate.

Minor physical adaptations occur in complex species all the time. Feral pigs quickly dominate lands that cannot cope with them, and grow indistinguishable from their wild ancestors over very few generations. (The “Holy” Dominion could serve as a human analogy to this from a societal perspective. Even technologically, they remained stagnant at best. Only their numbers and competition with the Empire of the New Britain Isles left them military parity. Otherwise, the sum of their culture had become more primitive and barbarous than any contributing component part.) In both instances, Doms and feral pigs, this is not evolution, but reversion to a previously realized form—if the pigs of this world and the last will forgive the comparison.

Imagine, however, the influence an insistent environmental imperative might have on a midrange intellect that perceives a requirement for profound adaptation on a subconscious level but cannot make the essential intellectual leap to achieve it by intuitive creativity. In other words, is it possible for a species to wish strongly enough that it can fly, for example, while lacking the intellect to recognize a fully formed desire to do so, that it might accelerate a physical adaptation? A less intelligent creature might plod along to eventual extinction. Greater intelligence might find a way around the need to fly—or construct an artificial means of doing so. But what of the species that wants to fly so badly, to escape danger or reach inaccessible food sources, that it tries for generations in spite of a physical inability? Might not an ineffectual leap eventually be combined with flapping arms? Might not, let us say, already somewhat feathery Grik-like creatures with superior plumage gain more height and duration of suspension, thereby achieving social acclaim, and be rewarded with breeding opportunities? Would not such societal encouragement result in more rapid, physical evolution than is possible for species without similar intelligence or incentive?

Warfare accelerates technological development. This is a fact observed even in the Dominion, where literacy was repressed to an almost Grik-like extent. The instinct to survive stimulates creativity like no other force. Might this not be seen as artificially accelerated intellectual evolution?

Once, in a moment of despair, I proclaimed the Grik the logical evolutionary masters of this world. That analysis was based on their physical perfection; hyperspecialized to kill, and what I imagined then as their almost antlike discipline and disregard of self. I was wrong. I now believe the Lemurians, with no assistance from us at all, should have eventually prevailed. It might have taken a thousand years, but their creative lethality would have surpassed the physical lethality of the Grik, whose very specialized physiology would have become a disadvantage.

All Grik-like forms evolved as apex physical predators, but the very attributes that make them so deadly with tooth and claw make it difficult for them to use, build, or even imagine the increasingly sophisticated weapons Lemurians could have made—eventually—to kill them. Sadly, however, just as the destroyermen of USS
Walker
and others came to aid the Lemurians, some Japanese survivors of
Amagi
aided the Grik. Not only did this accelerate the confrontation, but it created a technological parity that would never have existed otherwise, in my opinion. Perhaps I am mistaken again. The Grik are obviously capable of intellectual evolution, and if my notion of societally accelerated physical evolution has any merit at all, I suppose they could have found a way.

Ultimately however, technology can take you only so far—at least until your ability to apply it catches up. I’m often reminded of the battle at Isandlwana during the late Zulu wars—where all the bravery and technological advantage in the world could not prevail over sheer numbers, determination . . . and sharp objects.

—Courtney Bradford,
The Worlds I’ve Wondered
University of New Glasgow Press, 1956

1

//////
Maa-ni-la Navy Yard
Fil-pin Lands
March 9, 1944

L
ieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, High Chief of the Amer-i-caan Clan, Supreme Commander (by acclamation) of All Forces United Beneath (or Beside) the Banner of the Trees, and Captain of the old Asiatic Fleet four-stacker destroyer USS
Walker
(DD-163), loved baseball. He loved football too, and just about any team sport, as a matter of fact, but unlike many of the dwindling survivors of
Walker
,
Mahan
, and the old submarine S-19 on this world, he’d never closely followed the professional variety. He couldn’t recite team rosters or quote stats. He didn’t much care about all that and never had. He
did
care about the ball games between the various ships’ teams, however, and today his
Walker
s were playing the “Eastern League” champs from the Fil-pin shipyards: the Inaa Araang, or, roughly, “Rivet Drivers.”

For just a while, Matt’s anxious mind could concentrate on something besides the vast war raging across the known reaches of this “other” earth. He could suppress his revulsion over the treachery and barbarism on the eastern front across the broad Pacific, or Eastern Sea. He could worry about something less tragic than the dreadful losses and strategic setbacks plaguing the war in the west. He could let his own plans—and painful wounds—sink back away from his foremost consciousness, if only for a brief rejuvenating spell. For a few hours, he could enjoy himself and all the people around him, human or Lemurian, who took the same pleasure and comfort from an admittedly serious contest, but one not designed to end in slaughter.

The big game was underway in the main Maa-ni-la ballpark (one of three), in what had become the heart of the city. Once the area had been a kind of buffer between the city and its already impressive shipyards, almost a Central Park like Matt remembered in Manhattan. It was unlike the similar zone in Baalkpan, though, that pulsed with a never-ending bazaar. The closest thing in that distant city was the Parade Ground around Baalkpan’s Great Hall, which had become a peaceful refuge for those come to visit the war dead buried there. Again like Central Park, this had been a common area anyone could visit and use. The same still applied, but now there was a dirt diamond and impressive bleachers. The seats were protected by a backstop of woven wire from the new barbed-wire works—minus the barbs—and there was no wall on the far end of the field, just a chalky line no one dared cross on pain of eviction. Still, just as many Lemurians clambered for good spots beyond the outfield, hoping to catch one of the still-rare balls, as did those who packed the bleachers.

It was a full house, and even the area around the ballpark was packed. Matt had grown accustomed to surrealistic scenes on this earth, but this was really weird. He was watching a genuine
baseball game
, played mostly by very feline-looking creatures covered with fur of every color or combination of colors imaginable. The sea of spectators reacted as any baseball crowd would, even if they were just as wildly colored and the sounds weren’t exactly right. Beyond the crowd, the shipyard had grown to a sprawling, all-encompassing thing no buffer zone could ever tame again. Masts of ships and coiling smoke and steam from mighty engines practically blotted out any view of Maa-ni-la Bay or distant Corregidor, and the Maara-vella Advanced Training Center, or ATC, couldn’t be seen at all.

Matt knew the city behind him had expanded just as much. Already bigger and more populous than Baalkpan, Maa-ni-la had exploded. Initially flooded with “runaways”—people from other lands and seagoing Homes threatened by the ravening Ancient Enemy (the furry/feathery, reptilian Grik) who only wanted to escape the war—there’d been some . . . difficulty when Maa-ni-la joined the Grand Alliance. Most eventually realized they’d have to fight sooner or later, because after the Fil-pin Lands there was nowhere else to flee. This grew even more apparent when they discovered new allies across the great Eastern Sea—but more enemies as well. There were few “runaways” left, and, bolstered by its industry and broader resource and population base, all the Fil-pin Lands, and Maa-ni-la in particular, became a powerhouse. Baalkpan, where Balikpapan, Borneo, should have been, had done very well for itself as well and remained the “first city” of the Grand Alliance. But there could be no
offensives
without Maa-ni-la—and its high chief, Saan-Kakja.

Saan-Kakja was a remarkable Lemurian. Her black-and-gold striated eyes were utterly mesmerizing, and though still young for her job, she’d taken hold with an iron hand of the chaotic mess the Fil-pin Lands had been. Actually considered somewhat authoritarian for the tastes of some Lemurians, she’d united and directed her Home toward membership in the Grand Alliance. She’d done it without any personal ambition. She had no desire to lead anything but her own Home, and wanted equality, not dominance, for her people—and, ultimately, for all people everywhere. Given that ideal, Matt recognized she was worldly enough to have ambition for her people. She wanted all who opposed the evil Grik, and now the Dominion, to live free and prosper—but if her people were a little more prosperous than others, that was okay by her.

Matt smiled at the Lemurian leader seated on the other side of Sandra. Sandra was his wife, doctor, primary advisor, and the Minister of Medicine for the whole Alliance. Saan-Kakja grinned back, her perfect young teeth sharp and white. She was
really
enjoying the game, Matt realized. Well, so was he. It had somewhat unexpectedly become a nail-biter.

Lemurians had taken to baseball like ducks to water. The game was superficially similar to an ancient ’Cat (Lemurian) game in which contestants whacked a lobbed coconutlike object with a long, flat bat, the object being to attain the greatest distance. That translated easily enough to baseball, but the added complexity, strategy, and teamwork appealed to them as well. Initially dismissed by humans—and themselves—as somewhat unimaginative (except when it came to architecture!), Lemurians discovered a love for strategy that rivaled their blossoming interest in gizmos. They related structured strategy with rigid rules—like chess, which was also catching on—to complicated machines, and they loved it. Lemurians universally excelled when all the parts were there or all the pieces were on the table, but some—like Lt. Colonel Chack-Sab-At, his beloved General Queen Safir Maraan, General Lord Muln-Rolak, and even CINCWEST Keje-Fris-Ar, to some degree, were learning to use initiative and imagination.

Chack’s plan for the reconquest of New Ireland had been good, but the way he’d reacted when it fell apart was actually rather brilliant, in Matt’s opinion. With the exception of Safir and Rolak, there hadn’t been any experienced Lemurian war leaders before the war, and there’d been an adjustment period while they had to shift mental gears as a people. Now quite a few ’Cats were starting to shine on the battlefield, quickly adjusting to unexpected situations and generally doing at least as well as any human commander might in the same situation. That was good, because their enemies were getting uncomfortably better too. Matt was proud, but still a little sad that it took this damn war to show the Lemurians their true potential.

A bat cracked and the crowd roared around him. Matt and Sandra had some of the best seats in the house, there with Saan-Kakja and her advisors. Still, as the others jumped up, Matt lost sight of the ball and tried to rise as well. A stabbing pain in his right thigh and lower abdomen put a stop to that—as did Sandra’s restraining hand.
She knows me so well,
he thought, his inner smile masked by the grimace on his face.

“It’s a line drive, right over the shortstop’s head!” she said. “Yes! Pack Rat snagged it! She’s out!”

Gunner’s Mate Pak-Ras-Ar, or “Pack Rat,” played left field and had a hell of an arm. He used it then, winging the ball home. The bloated catcher and ship’s cook, Earl Lanier, took it on the bounce and only had to glare at the runner a step beyond third base before the ’Cat dove back at it. The stocky female Rivet Driver batter flipped her bat to the ground in disgust and strode sullenly to the dugout. Jeek,
Walker
’s small air division chief, was the ’Cat pitching for
Walker
that day. Her starting pitcher had been killed in action against the rogue Japanese destroyer
Hidoiame
, and Jeek had been designated his relief when they formed the team in the New Britain Isles. He was older and his fastball wasn’t as strong, but with age came guile, and he might’ve been the first ’Cat in the Navy to master a curveball that struck like lightning. He grinned and waited for the next batter to approach the plate.

Understanding things like curveballs was one of the few things that kept humans competitive in the game they’d brought to this world. Lemurians generally had greater upper-body strength, particularly the former wing runners who came from the great seagoing Homes. They could throw and hit harder and farther. Humans were better sprinters, though, and their slightly quicker reflexes let them hit more of the high-velocity fastballs they always expected—even if they couldn’t hit them as far. Far enough was good enough when the ball landed on the other side of the chalky line, however, and not every ’Cat who’d grown up with his or her own game thought that was quite fair. Human destroyermen were better at turning singles into doubles and triples too.

Right now, after a somewhat bitter game, the
Walker
s were magically only three runs down at the top of the ninth. That this seemed magical was because they’d had only a few days to prepare—and their most recent practice had been weeks before on Respite Island. The
Walker
s were also a “mixed” team, while the Rivet Drivers were all ’Cats, and that alone gave them an edge. They’d also had a
lot
of practice and were very, very good. The bitterness came from the age-old rivalry between “real” sailors and “yard apes” that was quickly transplanted here. Add the fact that USS
Walker
had been given priority over every ship in the yard, and her crew—particularly Tabby (Engineering Officer Lieutenant Tab-at), and
Walker
’s exec, Spanky McFarlane—had lorded it over everyone in the yard and criticized half the rivets they drove. That got
very
old, because in addition to repairing battle damage, they were basically reriveting the entire hull. The rivets used rebuilding
Walker
after the Battle of Baalkpan hadn’t been satisfactory at all, and Spanky felt responsible. That made him short-tempered with himself and everyone else.

Despite the abuse, most of the yard apes thought
Spanky
had the right to be critical. He was Minister of Naval Engineering, and revered as a font of almost mystical wisdom. But Tabby had made quite the ranting pest of herself, and the yard apes had grown to resent her in spite of her obvious competence (and equally obvious beauty). Her fur had mostly covered the old steam scars, and those still visible to the crusty yard apes added an exotic dash to her appearance. Her appearance only went so far, however, and she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than what she considered perfection. Even worse than Tabby, the weird little human Chief Isak Rueben had made everyone miserable with his shrill insistence that
Walker
’s ancient boilers come out of the yard even better than new. It was too much.

Adding insult to injury, even though the Rivet Drivers were the home team, the crowd’s clear favorite was the team from USS
Walker
. Sure, they were heroes and they’d just been in
another
terrible fight, but that stung and made them want to punish the
Walker
s—only it wasn’t working out that way. They led 9 to 6, but it should’ve been a blowout.

“It’s all up to Jeek,” Matt said. “If he can pick off this last batter, we might have a chance. Uh-oh.”

Striding to the plate, his tail held high, a heavy bat twirling in his hand, was the Rivet Drivers’ “cleanup” batter. He was the best they had, and with runners on first and third, all he needed was a hit to widen the gap.

Jeek watched him come and take his stance. He knew he’d allowed too many runs, but he’d had to pace himself. He
hoped
he’d saved his very best, sneakiest pitches for last. He blinked at Earl Lanier, and caught a nod in return. Even if Earl had ever taken time to learn ’Cat blinking, Jeek couldn’t have seen his reply through the mask and helmet he wore. Finger signals hadn’t been used before because all the pitchers were ’Cats, and so far all they knew to do was throw the ball like hell and hit the catcher’s glove. Any finger signal then might’ve tipped off the batter that something new was on the way. Besides, they’d planned for this. Jeek’s pair of blinks meant only “Okay,” but they also told Earl to be ready.

Jeek wound up and launched. The ball looked way outside—until it veered right into Earl’s waiting glove.

“Strike one!” cried Meksnaak. Saan-Kakja’s High Sky Priest might not be as popular with his flock as those of other Lemurian leaders, but his impartiality in this new game he adored was beyond question. The batter blinked, trying to reconcile what he’d seen with the crack of the ball slapping the glove right in the center of the strike zone. He shook his head.

The next pitch came, and looked just like the first. For an instant, the Rivet Driver considered reaching for it, but let it pass.

“Strike two!”

The crowd was on its feet again, wondering what they were seeing. How could Jeek do such a thing?

“Help me up, wilya, honey?” Matt asked Sandra, and reluctantly his wife helped him to his feet.

“Lean on your cane, Matthew,” she cautioned.

Jeek was staring hard at Lanier now, ball behind his back. To Matt it looked like he was wondering whether he could get away with the same pitch one more time. Finally, he wound up and let fly. With an audible
whoosh
, the Rivet Driver practically whirled out of the batter’s box. Strike three! Now
Walker
was up!

The Rivet Drivers’ pitcher was deadly accurate and as fast as a cannon shot. He also threw a little inside; his own “new” tactic he thought no one had noticed. Taarba-Kar (Tabasco),
Walker
’s assistant officer’s steward, managed a single, but Chief Quartermaster Paddy Rosen and Chief Bosun’s Mate Carl Bashear both struck out. Tabby got a pop-up single that the right fielder took on the bounce. Min-Sakir (Minnie),
Walker
’s diminutive (even for a ’Cat) bridge talker, almost had her head knocked off by a wild pitch; only her helmet saved her life. Due to the speed of the pitches and some of the hits, all batters and every infielder but the pitcher wore a combat helmet to play baseball on this world.